Learn French With Kery James with these 12 Song Recommendations (Full Translations Included!)

Imagine someone greeting you with a casual “How’s it going?” while the sky is literally falling. That is the jarring contrast at the heart of “COMMENT ÇA VA ?” by French rapper Kery James. The song paints a dark panorama where the sun hides under rubble, the moon curls up in sorrow, and the stars lose their shine. These poetic images reflect real-world tragedies: war-torn Gaza, crisis-stricken Goma, nameless exiles, hospitals turning into graveyards. Each verse piles up scenes of injustice, loneliness, and broken peace, making the simple question “Comment ça va?” feel almost absurd.

Yet Kery James is not only cataloguing despair. By repeating the polite greeting against such grim backdrops, he exposes our tendency to look away, to keep conversations light while the world burns. The track is a wake-up call that urges listeners to swap indifference for empathy and to recognize the hidden pain behind everyday pleasantries. In short, “COMMENT ÇA VA ?” transforms a routine phrase into a mirror that forces us to face global suffering—and maybe to answer the question with meaningful action instead of empty words.

Je Ne Plaisante Pas is Kery James with the safety off. Throughout the track he repeats that he is “à deux doigts” – only a hair’s-breadth – from losing control, resorting to violence, or abandoning France altogether. That tension becomes a metaphor for the daily balancing act faced by people from the banlieues: juggling family loyalty, faith, pride and raw anger while the state, the police and a judgmental society keep pressing on the trigger. The result is a song that feels like walking on a razor’s edge, where every bar is a warning flare saying, “Do not test me.”

Beneath the threats lies a sharp social critique. Kery paints a country where poverty, racism and political hypocrisy push the marginalized toward desperate choices. He references police brutality, under-funded schools, economic injustice and the unhealed wounds of colonial history. Yet he also shows self-awareness: the real battle is inside him, between his better judgment and the rage of a “Demba” that “sleeps” within. The message is clear: society must address these systemic wrongs, or the explosions he describes may no longer be just lyrics. It’s a powerful blend of personal confession and political alarm bell, delivered with the urgency of someone who really isn’t joking.

Kery James turns a nightmare into a rap novella. The song projects us to 2024, where a swaggering "little Napoléon" has ridden anti-Muslim fear all the way to the French presidency. Through rapid-fire verses, Kery sketches a grim domino effect: civil liberties shrink, poverty deepens, protestors bleed, and even music stations are silenced. Into this tense climate steps Maryam, forced by law to rename herself Marianne. Her turquoise hijab becomes a lightning rod for the country’s festering xenophobia, and a humiliating incident on a bus—captured on video—ignites nationwide unrest. What follows is a spiral of riots, hate crimes, extremist attacks, and state repression, until France teeters on full-blown civil war.

Behind the dystopian flair lies a clear warning: when fear and populism go unchecked, anyone’s dream can morph into a collective nightmare. By using familiar symbols (Marianne, the hijab, the “little Napoléon”), Kery James asks listeners to question who gets to define “Frenchness,” and reminds us that tolerance and vigilance are the real bulwarks against chaos.

6 du mat plunges us into the raw panic of a dawn police raid, where flashing blue lights shatter both the front door and the fragile peace of a family home. Over a hard-hitting beat, Kery James and Kalash trade verses that feel like a cinematic slow-motion scene: sirens howl, dreams splinter, and a son is face-down on the floor while his exhausted mother watches helplessly. The chorus rings out like a mantra — “No more drama, mama” — but the repeated promise only highlights how often it has been broken.

Behind the blunt street imagery, the song is really a confession of guilt and love. Kery James shows the cost of fast money and night-time hustles: a mother who ages before her time, a home repeatedly torn apart by the police, and a young man trapped between survival and redemption. The rappers lay bare the emotional tug-of-war between the lure of quick cash and the yearning to protect the woman who gave them life. In the end, 6 du mat is less about crime and more about accountability — a poignant reminder that every dawn raid leaves scars far deeper than broken doors.

Je Peux drops us right into a lively conversation between French rap icon Kery James and his young cousin Noumouké. Over a smooth, reflective beat, the older voice urges his “p’tit frère” to ditch street violence, open the right windows in life, and believe that he can become absolutely anything — “astronaute ou baveux” (astronaut or lawyer). The chorus, “Je sais que je peux” (I know I can), pulses like a mantra of self-belief, turning the grey walls of the housing projects into a canvas for huge, sun-lit dreams.

But the track is no one-way lecture. Noumouké pushes back, revealing the anger and temptation that stalk young people in the banlieues, yet still echoing the same core truth: choices are powerful. Their back-and-forth paints two possible futures: one ruled by quick money and territorial pride, the other by education, hard work, and long-term vision. The message is crystal clear: no matter the obstacles, you hold the steering wheel of your destiny. Part motivational anthem, part raw snapshot of French suburban life, Je Peux invites every listener — including English learners — to repeat the words I know I can and make them real.

Le Poète Noir is Kery James’ heartfelt manifesto about writing, identity, and resistance. With every line, the French-Caribbean rapper paints stark images of life in the concrete “cemetery of illusions,” where poverty, racism, and lost dreams weigh heavily on the soul. He “blackens white pages with ebony ink,” turning his personal pain into lyrical power. By answering prejudice “in the language of Césaire,” he honors great Black Francophone writers while reclaiming the French language for those it has often excluded. The chorus repeats like a storm cloud: he is killed daily by words, yet he strikes back with poetry that soars like shifting clouds.

At its core, the song is a proud declaration of survival. Kery James confronts stereotypes, rejects tokenism, and demands respect. He exposes the gap between France’s ideals and the harsh reality faced by its marginalized citizens, calling out political fear-mongering and “masked sheep” who embrace easy solutions. Even as he admits to moments of despair—“parfois je broie du noir” (sometimes I see everything in black)—he transforms that darkness into art, asking whether the world can be made better by scattering petals of prose. The result is a moving blend of vulnerability and defiance that invites listeners to appreciate both the beauty of French rap and the power of words to challenge injustice.

“A Qui La Faute” (Whose Fault Is It?) feels like a street-corner TED Talk set to a beat. Veteran wordsmith Kery James teams up with Orelsan to shoot a raw, self-made “movie” that flips the camera on French society. Scene one: Kery refuses to wait for big networks or cultural gatekeepers, pulling his own talent, grit, and immigrant background into the spotlight. Scene two: he rails against a system that pockets immigrant labor, stigmatizes the banlieues, and then blames the victims for not “trying hard enough.” The hook — “À qui la faute ?” — sounds like a hunt for culprits, yet Kery quickly pivots to a tougher question: What are we going to do about it?

Between sharp punchlines, the song stitches together poverty in rural towns, police profiling, broken political promises, and the amnesia of successful rappers who forget their roots. Instead of drowning in anger, Kery and Orelsan spark a call to self-empowerment: start your own business, tell your own stories, build community wealth. The takeaway? Don’t wait for the French state to hand you a happy ending; grab the pen, write the script, and roll the camera on a future you direct yourself.

Sans Moi is Kery James’ spirited refusal to play a game he believes is rigged from the start. Over a pulsing beat, the French wordsmith points out that there will always be someone stronger, richer, or flashier, so why chase empty trophies? Instead of shrinking before bankers or begging for credit, he calls listeners to question a society that measures happiness in luxury brands, sports-car selfies, and never-ending competition.

The chorus ‟Alors ce sera sans moi” (Then it will be without me) is a rallying cry for true freedom: the freedom to opt out. James rejects the pressure to consume, conform, and constantly compare, reminding us that real liberation begins when we stop letting others define our worth. If success means losing yourself in materialism, he’d rather watch from the sidelines—proudly, defiantly, and authentically himself.

Vivre Ou Mourir Ensemble is Kery James stepping onto a storm-hit stage and asking every listener, Which side are you on? Through rapid-fire poetry he shows us grey skies filled with fear, bitterness, and hate that politicians eagerly ignite while hiding behind flags. He connects the dots between wars abroad, racism at home, and the seductive rhythm of vengeance, warning that even the proudest speeches can be silenced by one crack of violence.

Yet the track is more than a warning siren – it is a rallying cry for courage and unity. James insists that peace is fragile but still within reach if we refuse to dance with hate. He calls out racists, warmongers, and arm-chair provocateurs, reminding us that humanity must live or die together. The song leaves you with a simple, urgent choice: will you help the rain grow new flowers, or stand by while the storm destroys the garden?

Racailles is Kery James’s fiery reply to the French political class that once labeled young people from the suburbs “thugs.” With biting irony, the rapper flips the word back onto those in power, exposing corruption, double standards, and a widening gap between the ruling elite and everyday citizens. Name-checking convicted officials and highlighting scandals, he paints a portrait of leaders who seem more interested in luxury bags and cushy salaries than in the struggles of the “France d’en bas.”

Amid rapid-fire rhymes and pounding beats, Kery James condemns police violence, austerity measures, media complicity, and the ever-tightening grip of finance on democracy. Yet the song is not only an accusation; it is a call to action. Refusing to align with any party, the MC urges a réveil citoyen – a grassroots awakening – reminding listeners that real change begins when the people reclaim their voice. The result is a hard-hitting protest anthem that channels anger into awareness and turns music into a megaphone for social justice.

Banlieusards is Kery James’s electrifying pep-talk for France’s suburban youth – and for anyone who has ever felt written off before the race even started. Over a pounding beat, he proclaims that people from the banlieues are “not condemned to failure,” celebrating their resilience, intelligence, and pride. The rapper paints a raw picture of social exclusion, racial prejudice, and economic hurdles, yet flips every obstacle into fuel for ambition: learn, understand, create, succeed. His verses salute immigrant parents who sacrificed everything, challenge listeners to swap burned cars for built businesses, and insist that knowledge is the ultimate weapon.

Far from a complaint, the song is a motivational manifesto. Kery James invites his “second France” to rise as soldiers, not victims, and to carve out their own success through education, unity, and relentless effort. The chorus pounds like a heartbeat—“Banlieusards et fiers de l’être”—reminding us that pride and perseverance can turn the toughest streets into launchpads for greatness.

Hope glitters on the horizon in this uplifting collaboration between French rapper Kery James and the velvety-voiced Corneille. Speaking directly to anyone weighed down by prison walls, harsh neighborhoods, broken love or heavy memories, the song paints the horizon as a bright line where everything can begin again. It reminds us that even from ruins we can rebuild an empire, that dreams still run even in a wheelchair, and that a single spark of courage can light a roaring flame of change.

“À l’Horizon” is a call to escape our inner prisons and walk together toward freedom. Over a soulful chorus, Kery James insists we trade excuses for curiosity, shame for reinvention and resignation for victory. Each refrain—“Je te retrouverai sur le chemin de notre liberté”—promises that none of us has to travel that road alone. The result is a motivating anthem that turns pain into possibility and reminds every listener that happiness, victory and a brand-new life are only a few brave steps away.